


Bottomless Pit

by orphan_account



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodlust, Borderline Necrophilia, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, insatiable hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 15:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19379605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A hunter's bloodlust is a challenge in its own right, how do you deal with the unnatural appetite that comes to balance out bestial power? More tags to be added as things progress!





	Bottomless Pit

**Author's Note:**

> Not only is this the first fic I've ever written, I don't think I've written anything else for a few years prior so pardon any choppy text while I get back into the hang of things.  
> As an additional note, Josiah uses the Beast Embrace rune, hence the half transformation throughout the story. He has a vagina because hes a bit of a self insert, but I think I'm allowed to have a bit of fun with my writing.

Josiah wondered if anyone else ever felt rage like this, or if it was a side effect of being a hunter. It tore through him like a knife, left his head in a fog and vision shrouded in red, limbs rife with restless energy. It almost felt like his body didn’t belong to him, phantom sensations of claws and fangs that drove him to rip and tear to prove their existence to him. This was all good and fine when it came to slaughter, as it drove him to do the most damage possible and covered up any pain, leaving him a tornado of blood and fury. However, there was a side to it that made him think this was hunter specific, a boon or curse depending, and it was the hunger. 

Hunger both carnal and gluttonous twinged in the pit of his stomach any time he caught the rank of beast, making his mouth (and elsewhere) moisten in anticipation. The first few times he passed it off as the need to replenish his energy after a fight, a side effect of the adrenaline rush that came with swinging a 7 foot saw toothed blade through flesh, until one night he woke up feeling like his body was about to turn on itself unless he got something in his stomach RIGHT THEN. Through the haze of restlessness and arousal he could smell a musky, fetid wet dog odor drifting in through the boarded up window outside of the hovel he shacked up in. He stilled, put a hand over his mouth, (he had to resist the urge to chew on his own fingers), and listened to the beast outside huff and snort, claws clacking against stone as it sought out its prey. After what felt like an eternity, the beast must have lost interest and it trotted off, off redder pastures . The rest of the night was spent with his pants rucked down to his knees and four fingers shoved in him as deep as he could manage.

Cut to now, his shirt fair drenched in blood and his eyes wild, mouth parted and slavering and his hands struggling to hold on to his weapon and not grow great sickle claws to more intimately dispatch enemies. The beast was wounded, Achilles tendon torn and its left leg limp and useless at its side. Still a formidable foe, and one he needed to be wary of, but it wouldnt last much longer. It growled at him, and he snarled back, something in his throat making the harsh sound reverberate unnaturally. The beast lunged at him, going low and apparently trying to take out his legs. His heightened senses registered the change in posture just quick enough to spring to the right, on the side of its wounded leg, and drive the great spear into its shoulder. A ghastly shriek tore through the alley as his weapon tore sinew and crushed bone. A quick backstep and he was a safe distance away again, watching as the creature tried and failed to keep its balance on two opposing legs. There was an oddly moist thump as it hit the ground.

The wretched thing scrabbled against the cobblestone for a second, unable to get purchase, and Josiah moved in for the kill. The brunt force of his blade crushed its remaining limbs into useless pulp, and still it thrashed in unbridled fury and gut wrenching pain. Josiah almost felt a little sorry for it, as he was all too familiar with the fury that drove these creatures in their death throes. It was a certain act of mercy when he knelt above it, knees straddling its chest, and cast his blade aside in favor of pulling off his gloves with sharp teeth to reveal blackened nails curved to points. Despite his relatively mild injuries, he was panting violently, saliva bubbling from the corners of his mouth and occasionally pushing out a growl. His hands itched, the kind of itch that sat in his bones and made his hands twitch to squeeze and claw and shred. A grotesquely long tongue poked out to lick his lips, and the curtain of red closed to filter out anything other than the need to hurt, to take, to assert his dominance over this godforsaken creature in any way he could. His stomach growled. 

A hand, dimly recognized by himself as his own, reached out to grab the creature by the throat and petted the dirty, oily fur. The unnatural animal bucked, and he had to suppress a moan, settling instead for snarling and latching both of his hands around its neck and squeezing, blessedly tight, so tight his knuckles hurt and fingers strained. The animal shrieked again and thrashed, trying to free itself with broken limbs and he laughed, sickening sounds pealing out of his chest like blood bubbles from a wound, using the beasts sternum as a point to grind against as he rolled his hips and sunk his claws into the meat of its neck.

This went on for a few seconds before another hunger pang hit him and he let out a half sob, needing to feel this god awful creature die, needing completion of some sort. A sharp jerk of his claws left a gash that spurted blood rhythmically, in tune with the heart hammering against his loins. He shuddered and repeated the action on the other side, the hair at the back of his neck standing up at the sensation of skin tearing. He shoved his fingers into the gaping wound, unnatural hunger driving him to mangle the near corpse underneath him as much as he could. The beasts thrashing had finally subsided to weak twitching and he redoubled his efforts at dry humping it, mind frantic as his brain filled with thoughts of soft skin, scarlet and slick blood, the plush sensation of breasts pressed against his own chest, of meat tearing between teeth. 

His own hot breath puffed up against his eyes, and he tore a hand off the beasts neck to pull his scarf down, tongue hanging out like a cheap whores, mouth parted to reveal a predators maw, all shiny white teeth coming to points and dripping saliva. 

At both his (and the beasts) gory ultimatum, he leaned down and sunk his teeth into the white fascia exposed by his claws, thighs clamping together and whole body clenching up as blood, scaldingly hot and horrifically metallic flooded his mouth. For a second his mind went blank, focused only on his senses with no higher thought.

When he came to he was slouched over the furred corpse, a faint slick sensation between his legs and heavy taste in his mouth. He spat, and a clump of matted fur and muscle hit the pavement. Refocusing his eyes, he saw that most of the neck belonging to the beast he had slain was missing, presumably in his stomach, albeit some unidentifiable pulpy pieces had splattered across the pavement in his frenzy. 

He wiped his mouth on the back of his bracer, partially clotted blood sticking to it in gelatinous clumps. He grimaced and stood up on still unsteady legs, hopping over the mangled corpse to retrieve his axe as he cursed himself. Throwing aside an invaluable weapon in favor of relatively weaker claws was a foolish move at best, and deadly at worse. Snapping the barrel of his gun off the handle of the axe, he sheathed his weapons in their place and turned around to look at the carnage. More than one severed limb lay separated by quite a few feet from its original body, and of the 7 or so carcasses that littered the street not one hadn’t been disemboweled, beheaded, or otherwise mangled in a way that was “excessive” to say the least.  
He frowned behind his dark scarf, glad no one had seen that (and survived, at least). Whatever bloodlust it was that fueled him into going beyond execution to the point of butchering had been ramping up over the last few times he had slept, and he was a bit worried he might be put down like the beasts he hunted if someone caught him in the throes of violent passion. The only thing he could do was turn his head and shrug off the thought, and try not to think about how his loins stirred at the thought of someone finding him soaked in blood and viscera and the ensuing tussle that would follow.

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Alfred’s interest was piqued when he heard a feral shriek tear through the cold air, echoing off the walls and ending to leave the eternal night unnaturally silent again. He sat up from an upright slouch against his kirkhammer, and turned his head towards the origin of the bellow. He knew it must be that new hunter, as he had spotted him earlier that evening headed in that direction. Although it was clearly a beasts scream, it was one rent from an animal in agony, and he was curious about what that entailed. There was something about the hunter (his name started with a J, he thought, although he couldn’t remember beyond that) that made him want to know more, something in his sloppy speech mannerisms or bright eyes or wide footed stance that stood out as having something more behind it. 

He slung the great hammer across his back, using the momentum to put it in place and marching off towards the fell howl.

What he saw when he arrived was not what he expected. Firstly, he hadnt totally expected the hunter to still be there, perhaps having slain his prey and moved on. Secondly, he hadn’t been expecting to see him with his shirt pulled up to expose his gore smeared stomach and mask pulled down to show off a vile, purple tinged tongue and sharp teeth. Thirdly (and perhaps most disturbing) he was deeply discomfitted to see him rutting against a dying beast, whining high in his throat as he took bite after bite of the creatures neck, occasionally stopping and gagging at too big a piece to swallow, coughing it up before moving back to pull off another chunk. He quickly ducked behind a pillar, feeling like he had just seen something akin to his parents having sex, or two animals mating in the farmyard.

He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to scrub the vision out, but it lingered like a sewer smell, sulphurous and burning. He peeked around the pillar again, some sort of morbid curiosity taking hold of him, and his eyes fair bugged out his head when he saw that poor, wretched hunter sensually slide a hand down his gore smeared stock and into the front of his pants, whining hitting a peak and tongue lolling out. He turned away from the horrific scene again, eyes wide and expression haunted, breathing starting up hard as what he was watching really sank in. 

A quick glance down confirmed his worst fears.

He could see his cock pressing against his trousers, already at half mast and eager to stand at attention, and his stomach roiled. Moist sucking and slurping sounds came from around the corner and he sank to his knees as quietly as he could, suddenly feeling lightheaded. 

He didn’t feel disgust, or revulsion, or even distaste. He felt shame, for sure, and perhaps a little bit of guilt, as he was watching a scene that had played out in his own head many times, that had many times brought him to completion harder and faster than any human he had ever been with.

He wasn’t totally sure this was happening, wondering if perhaps some new sort of plague had overtaken him, and this was his nightmare. The cold dampness seeping in through his pants and vividness of the world around him dispelled the thought as soon as it came, though, and he came to the realization that the new hunter was in fact hunched over a dying, if not dead, beast and eating his way through its neck. The thought sent a shiver down his spine and made his loins tighten unbearably, enough that he gasped with the sudden rush. He clamped a hand over his mouth and went totally silent, afraid he had been found out, but there didn’t seem to be any interruption to the unholy sounds coming from behind him.

He squirmed in place and grit his teeth when he reached down to grab his bulge, palming himself through layers of thick cotton and thinking about sliding up behind the hunter, grabbing his slim hips and pre-

His eyes squeezed themselves shut as another near painful jolt of pleasure shook him down through his legs and he quickly made to undo the lacing of his pants, not totally bringing himself out (as sitting on the ground with your cock out in Yharnam is never a smart move), just loosening his clothes enough to grope himself and rut up against his hand, breathing out through his nose and closing his eyes to focus only on what he could hear.

After the roaring in his ears lessened to a buzz, he could hear high pitched whines and moans coming from behind him, the occasional half sob of someone desperate for pleasure either being denied or rewarded. His hand sped up. A breathy, overtly erotic moan echoed off the walls and Alfred blushed for the first time since he was a teenager, having never actually heard that sound from someone else’s mouth, only imagined it in the throws of passion between him and his right hand. The aforementioned limb sped up and he bit his hand, screwing his eyes shut as his other fist tightened and he came with a barely audible sound, messing the inside of his trousers and leaving a hot, sensation across his shoulders and face, joints like jelly. 

Forcing his eyes back open, just dragged lead-weighted limbs around to put himself back together, fumbling with his pants closures and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

Shame and embarrassment, coated with a healthy dose of fear, coated his cheeks and made his head cloudy as he came back down, climbing on to unsteady legs and trying to put as much distance between himself and the scene as he could, panic nipping like hounds at his heels as he hurried through backstreets.

“As though I don’t have enough problems to deal with,'' he thought, ears buzzing and feet stumbling as he made his way home.


End file.
